Hard to believe Marc Bianchi, Her Space Holiday’s mainman, was once a purveyor of Californian hardcore. Such sun-drenched thrash is a world away from the sharp intelligence and exquisite layering of the music he makes now.
Here, his soft voice is brilliantly backed by quietly mutating electronics and hip hop beats, with mediaeval flavours, some tinkling piano, glockenspiel and sudden dramatic bursts adding further colour. But the greatest interest lies in the lyrics?intriguing, charming, highly insightful and sometimes violently confessional, often on a par with the very best of Elliott Smith. It’s melancholy but genuinely uplifting, both heavy and ethereal. Class.
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